LITMIR.BIZ

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bags, a small paint brush, and a dental pick like the one Dr. Forsythe used.

      Carefully, Eddy scraped the dirt into the dustpan “We’re not planting flowers and shrubs, so it’s important to consider that just millimetres below, or in the next scoop of matrix, we might find some important bit of information. We don’t want anything to be damaged or missed.” Eddy’s pudgy body was perched over the burial as if she were a medic giving first aid. Occasionally, she stopped and wiped her forehead with the red bandana hanging loosely around her neck.

      Soon the bucket was filled with black sandy soil dotted with bits of broken shell. “Okay, let’s screen this stuff.” She pointed to a rectangular frame covered in fine wire mesh dangling from three poles tied at the top like a teepee. “Once we’ve screened away the loose dirt, we’ll look carefully for any small things I might have missed.”

      I struggled to carry the bucket over to the screening station. Every time I hoisted the pail up to dump its contents, the screen swung away. After three tries, I finally managed to empty the pail.

      “We need to look for anything that appears to be plant life, small animal bones, or shell fragments that I can use to determine food sources available at the time of this burial,” Eddy said. “There might even be some small artifacts, like flaked stone from tool-making.”

      I pushed around the cold, damp soil, which felt like coarse sandpaper to my hands.

      “That-a-girl!” Eddy said. “Now push it around evenly and search for anything that might be important.”

      I studied the surface without recognizing anything special.

      “Okay, nothing there,” Eddy instructed. “Now start to shake it back and forth.”

      I rocked the screen as if it were a baby in a cradle. “You’ll have to do better than that,” she told me. “Give it a good shake.”

      The tiniest grains of soil fell through, covering the plastic sheet with an ever-rising mound of dirt. I could imagine what Aunt Margaret was going to think when she saw all this dirt flattening her grass. Soon there was nothing left in the screen except some tiny pebbles and bits of broken shell that were too large to slip through the wire.

      “It’s nothing too exciting, but we’ll bag these shell fragments as a food sample.” Eddy brought out a clipboard, a paper form, and a plastic Ziploc bag. At the top of the paper were the words “Artifact Record Form.” Below was the word Site, and next to it Eddy wrote “DhRr 1 — Peggy’s Pond.”

      “These letters are a code that will tell any other scientist exactly which site this sample was taken from.” Eddy winked. “Kind of like when X marks the spot on a pirate’s treasure map.”

      “But why did you write Peggy’s Pond?”

      “It’s customary to name a site. Sometimes we name it after the local Native group, or the landowner — or in this case the site discoverer.”

      My cheeks turned warm with colour, then I watched as Eddy wrote: “Shell samples are a possible food source, found in level 1, ten centimetres below datum.” After that she filled the bag.

      “Seems kind of gross that broken shell bits could be evidence of what ancient people ate, especially with a dead person in the mix,” I said. “That’s about as appetizing as finding the remains of a dead pet in the garden along with the zucchini and carrots.”

      Eddy chuckled. “I can see what you mean. But all these broken shells are here because the ancient ones heaped up the used clamshells or fish bones when they were finished with them — kind of like an ancient garbage dump, except it was all organic. Archaeologists call this a shell midden. We’re not absolutely certain why, but it’s quite common in this area to find burials in the midden.”

      “I bet it has something to do with covering the scent of the body so wild animals don’t go digging it up. Nothing could stink as much as rotting fish guts and stuff, right?”

      “That could be it,” Eddy said, smiling. “All right, now that you’ve seen how we record information and store it in bags, you can do the next one.”

      She picked up the bucket and returned to the excavation pit. I knelt beside her on the grass, staring at the black midden like a pup ready to pounce on a ball.

      The morning passed quickly, and I lost track of the number of buckets I screened. We didn’t find a single artifact, and all there was to show for our hard work was a neat mound of loose sand, shell, and dirt under the screen.

      “My legs are getting stiff,” Eddy finally said. “How would you like to dig for a while?”

      My heart leaped the way it had when Uncle Stuart said I could back the car down the driveway. Careful not to crush any fragile bones, I stepped inside the small pit. Moving around was a bit like trying to navigate inside a cardboard box.

      “Remember,” Eddy warned, “these bones and artifacts have been buried here for thousands of years, so go slowly and be gentle.”

      Okay, now that actually made me nervous.

      I knelt and brushed away a thin layer of dirt dried by the sun. The bones were yellowy-brown, and I could see that some of them were badly cracked and crumbly.

      “You’re doing fine. And remember that an archaeologist needs to be patient.” Eddy bent down and pointed to a spot near the top of the skull. “You see this here? I’m pretty sure it’s some kind of a stone tool. It might even be a woodworking tool.”

      I could almost feel the pulse in my fingertips and had to resist the temptation to rip the stone out. My hand trembled as I scrapped around the artifact, then scooped and dumped the black earth into the bucket.

      “Aha! You see, you see!” Eddy was crouched over the hole with her nose practically in the dirt. “It is a burin! Good job, Peggy!”

      The object looked like any run-of-the-mill rock to me, except for the fluted edges that came to a point. “What’s it for?” I asked.

      “It’s a tool we think was used for carving or engraving. You know what this means, don’t you?”

      I stared blankly.

      “This is the first bit of cultural material that tells me this individual was quite likely a craftsman or a woodworker.”

      I was a bit confused. “That seems like a waste. It’d be like us burying a perfectly good skill saw with some guy just because he was a carpenter.”

      “You’ve got to remember, Peggy, that early people had a belief in an afterlife — much like people today. But in their case they wanted to make sure their friend or loved one had everything he or she needed for the next world, like tools, food, even jewellery. We call these grave goods.”

      “It sure would be nice if Peggy was as interested in keeping the floor of her bedroom as clean as this hole.”

      I quickly turned to see Aunt Margaret standing behind us. I had no idea how long she’d been there listening.

      “Peggy, maybe Dr. McKay will let you borrow her broom and dustpan later. You never know what neat artifacts you’ll find under all that dirty laundry.” Even though she was smiling, I could detect a prickle of annoyance in her voice. “And before you come into the kitchen, make sure you scrub your hands with soap and water.”

      “I can assure you, Mrs. Randall, this is the cleanest dirt you’ll ever find. And if Peggy keeps up the way she’s been going, we may have ourselves a future archaeologist.” Eddy gave me a thumbs-up.

      “To be honest, I think she’d do better pursuing something else,” Aunt Margaret said. “I don’t imagine there’s a big demand for archaeologists. By the way, I hope having her help you isn’t slowing things down. Because I don’t mind telling you that I can barely sleep at night knowing this ... this ... thing is out here.”

      Her nose wrinkled and her top lip curled as she wagged her finger at the bones

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